


Deluded

by YamaHikari



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Gen, Insanity, Suicidal Thoughts, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 01:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21110351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamaHikari/pseuds/YamaHikari
Summary: "Everything started so well. I worked hard, I always worked hard."A girl coming off her first semester at school tries to enjoy time with her family, but the stress of school catches up with her.





	Deluded

**Author's Note:**

> This was a piece I wrote for Halloween for the writing club I'm in. I entered into a fugue state to write it directly against our VP's advice.
> 
> Be warned, there's some pretty graphic, uncomfy content that I did not tag because spoilers. There is no sexual content.

I stabbed into the chicken breast, sawing away at the squelching flesh until the knife hit wood. Excessive, maybe, but it felt cathartic after everything fell apart this semester. But it wasn’t my fault, no, it wasn’t my fault. It was Them. 

Everything started so well. I worked hard, I always worked hard. But They appeared, a constant thorn tearing into my consciousness. In class, in bed, Their harassment continued endlessly. After so many sleepless nights, my heart would thump against my ribcage like death crept one beat behind. My fingers and hands shook until I could hardly grip my pencil. When I looked at assignments or textbooks or tests, the text swirled and blurred until I saw nothing but a formless lake of white and black. My exhaustion became so great, I stopped attending class entirely.

Every attempt by the university to contact me I disregarded, and as soon as finals began, I went home early. Being the precious honor student, my parents took me at my word. 

They looked so proud, so confident in my abilities. They would not stay proud. Graduating in four years with no debt had become a pipe dream. 

My teenage little brother, though I expected little from him, gave me odd looks. Before, he was jealous of my achievements in high school, the attention I received over him. Likewise, his failure bolstered my ego, securing me in the position of superior sibling. I was the better child, the precious, intelligent, successful daughter. 

But not anymore.

_ Disgusting, absolutely disgusting, worthless trash, lowest of the low, the dredges of humanity- _

They could see it clearly as day, what I had become. Those beings only I could see, with forms I could not understand, Their shapes disappearing from memory as quickly as I saw them. At first, I thought Them to be hallucinations, but Their pinching and prodding felt very real, those soundless whispers in nonexistent languages flowing into my ears and the breaths tickling the back of my neck.

Hearing it, feeling it, made me want to claw at my skin until I didn’t  _ feel _ .

Gnaw on my fingers til even my bones wore away.

No doctor nor psychiatrist could cure me of Them. I would be admitted, pushing back my academic career, burdening and disappointing my parents. But, that was happening anyway. Either path led to certain damnation. 

I don’t want them to find out. If I was anything less than what they wanted, they would hate me.

A wave of sensations flooded my body again, tremors shaking my body, skin freezing, blood boiling. 

_ Horrible, awful, I want to die. _

Their whispering began, filling my mind with images. Corpses at my feet, throats, wrists, stomachs slit, bleeding out,  _ dying _ .

_ Not fast enough. I don’t want pain, just the end. For it all to stop.  _

I stared at the knife in my hand, unblinking. Darkness crept from the edges of my vision, closing in on the knife at the center. Every thump of my heart echoed louder and louder in my ears, bringing out the whispering.

_ Thump-thump _

_ Thump-thump _

** _Thump-thump_ **

“Hey sis, you okay?”

Ah.

I forgot to breathe.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

My brother squinted his eyes, looking from me to the knife. 

“Maybe you should put the knife down and take a nap. Dad’ll be home soon and he can finish cooking.”

“Alright…”

_ He knows something’s wrong, he’ll tell mom and dad, then it’ll be over. No, it’s already over. But I don’t want them to look at me like the  _ ** _trash_ ** _ I am, disappointment, a  _ ** _terrible_ ** _ daughter, a  _ ** _burden_ ** _ , feels worse than  _ ** _death_ ** _ , those  _ ** _eyes_ ** _ , I can feel them, I  _ ** _hate _ ** _ them, those eyes. _

_ Don’t look at me like that. _

_ Don’t look at me like that. _

_ Don’t look at me like that, don’t look at me like that, don’t look don’t look  _ ** _don’t look don’t LOOK_ **

They can’t find out. I won’t let them.

\-----------------------------------

Dinner passed quietly, uneventfully, without my brother saying a word. I humored my parents attempts at conversation as best I could, but soon excused myself, saying I felt tired.

I spent the next several hours pacing, biting my nails, anything to take my focus off the unending aggravation tugging at my sanity. Instead, I turned my focus to planning.

All of this would end tonight. My parents would never find out.

By my own hands.

There can be no disappointment with no expectations.

I glanced at my alarm clock. Midnight. Everyone was asleep.

It was time. 

I crept out of my room into the darkness of the hallway. The whispering and poking and prodding had quieted, to the point where I could hear the hum of the boiler. My fingertips glided across the smooth plaster walls as I slipped into the kitchen. The counters were tidy, as mom kept them, so it was easy to spot my target.

The knife block. 

I wrapped my fingers around the handle of the chef’s knife, drawing it out from the wooden block. After turning it over a few times, I decided to pass it through the sharpener once, finding satisfaction in the sound of iron grinding against whetstone. 

My heart beat so harshly in my chest, I could hardly breathe. With each step, my knees felt increasingly weak.

But I kept moving. 

Back down the hallway, to the right of my room was my little brother’s room. To the left, my parents. 

I turned left.

Their door ajar, I slipped in without a sound, allowing me to approach their bed without waking them.

I looked down at my dad, sleeping peacefully. Memories of our time together surfaced.

The times he chaperoned for school field-trips.

The times I pretended to sleep on the couch so he would carry me to bed.

The times he helped me with homework.

Tears of grief spilled from my eyes. I was going to miss him.

After a brief moment of solitude, I brought the knife down into his left eye. 

Blood splashed out of the wound. Red stained the sheets and pillows. His right eye had opened, looking up at me in shock.

_ He’s not dying fast enough. _

_ He wasn’t supposed to suffer! _

_ It was supposed to be quick. Did I miss his brain?! _

The whispers in my ears elevated to unintelligible yelling that blended into my thudding heart and gasping sobs.

_ Again! _

I drew out the knife, bringing forth more blood, then brought it back down further into his skull.

“OH MY GOD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

_ Screaming, mom is screaming. _

When she woke up, I don’t know, but I need to move on. Turning to her, I leaped over my dad’s corpse  _ surely he’s dead, I’m sorry, but he must be _ then raised the knife. 

She rolled out from under my strike onto the floor. Tripping over her own feet, she scurried into a corner.

I rushed forward, knife ready to strike. Her own instincts kicked in, grasping my arm before I could stab her. A deadlock.

Her arms shook as she cried. It broke my heart, seeing her so upset. Though more tears fell, I kept pressing, bringing the knife closer and closer to her face.

Then, her eyes flicked away from me, glancing at something over my shoulder.

“Call the police!”

I snapped my head to look behind me. My little brother stood in the doorway.

“GO!”

He bolted out, and I heard a door slam shut.

_ There’s no time, no time, I have to end this now- _

Mom pushed me back in my distracted state then rushed towards the door. Before she could make it more than a step, my hand lashed out, catching her leg, bringing her crashing down to the floor. 

Her screaming and crying grew louder, amplifying Their yelling. This time, I did not hesitate  _ there’s no time _ . 

The knife plunged into her back. It grated against her ribs, vibrating in my hand.

All noise ceased.

I pulled it out with a wet, sticky sound.

Then plunged it back in again.

And again.

And again.

And again, and again, and  **again and again andagainandagainandagain-**

_ I’m sorry, I can’t grieve yet. _

Down the hallway, I tried turning the knob of my brother’s door. Locked.

“Oh God, she’s here, she’s trying to open the door-”

On top of the door frame was an allen wrench. Dad kept them there to get in when we were being troublesome. 

Once the lock clicked, I opened the door. It stopped after an inch; he barricaded it with his desk. 

Our eyes met. I could see him, curled in the corner of his bed, clutching his phone to his ear. He froze, not even daring to breathe.

_ There’s no time. _

I pulled the door shut, running through the halls and out the front door. At the front of the house on the left hung his bedroom window.

By then, in my focus, my tears stopped.

With some work, the knife sliced through the window screen, creating a hole big enough to climb through. At my feet laid a concrete stepping stone with the handprints of a toddler pressed into it. I lifted it up then flung it into the window.

Glass shattered with a loud crash, accompanied by my brother’s screams.

“She-she broke my window! She’s climbing in! What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?!”

He scurried off the bed, phone still glued to his ear. I lunged after, bloodied knife at the ready.

Before the tip sunk into his eye, he caught my arm. His lips moved, screaming something, but it couldn’t reach through the cacophony of Their chanting, which drowned out even the sound of my heartbeat.

In that moment, my knife hovering inches above my brother’s head, I could understand Their words.

_ Free yourself. _

Suddenly, my arm lost its strength. My vision blurred. Feeling left my body.

My brother scrambled to push me off, to get away. I saw him retreat to the corner, tearing at his pajama shirt for comfort.

_ Ah, _ I thought absently, _ The police. _

_ Tazed? Shot? I’m not sure. _

_ Oh, he’s staring at me… _

His eyes were wide. With the way his jaw vibrated, I could envision the sound of his teeth chattering through my muddled hearing.

I gave him a little smile.

“S’fine… free…” 

_ Freedom… _

**Author's Note:**

> Lowkey, her failing class probably scared me the most to write.
> 
> I swear I am not plotting familicide (I sent this to my sister and her response was "I see parallels"). Rather, I wanted to write a visceral descent into madness, something that would freak out the writing club I'm in when I read it.
> 
> This is probably a good time to mention that this is not intended to be representative of any mental illnesses or conditions; it's simply meant to spook the reader.
> 
> Feedback is welcome (even if you're just mad at me). If there are any grammar/spelling issues, please let me know right away. Nothing ruins one's immersion like a sudden spelling issue.


End file.
